


evergreen

by spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fix-it fic set the night before seth turns on the shield. double crosses are boring. triple crosses, though - those are the best kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	evergreen

**Author's Note:**

> i realized that i've posted some fic on [tumblr](http://heyspibsy.tumblr.com) that i never posted here, and some of them i'm quite proud of, so i'm going to attempt to stagger the postings of these in order to not flood the archive. sorry in advance if you've already read this! this is the first of those fics i'm crossposting, because i'm a sucker for fix-it fic and i like losers in love having happy endings.

Considering the match they just won, the mood in their hotel room is pretty low. Everybody might expect them to be celebrating still, to be overjoyed that they have this victory, solid proof that they’re better, better than better, better than the best.

And because they’re better than the best, it means they don’t just have a plan A, and a plan B. They have a plan C.

“You’re gonna have to focus on me,” Dean says suddenly, and from the way the other two jump, he can tell they weren’t expecting him to talk. Roman’s on his stomach on the bed, and Seth’s practically bathing in ice packs but neither of them were relaxed. “With Roman’s back all fucked up.”

It’s the ultimate deception, a plan inside a plan, a betrayal in three parts. Triple H underestimates them and that has _always_ been his problem. Triple H doesn’t understand that the Shield is not a stable, it is a fucking juggernaut, and it will not succumb to power or threats or _bribes_. Triple H doesn’t understand that not everybody has a price. He doesn’t understand how the Shield works. And that’ll be his downfall. They’ve made sure of it.

“I’m supposed to meet him at the arena tomorrow,” Seth says, fiddling with the ice pack against the side of his neck. “Before the show. To make sure we’re all…” His lip curls in a sneer that looks wrong on Seth’s face. “To make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Roman laughs a little, quietly, under his breath. “Shit,” he says. That’s all he says, but it’s what they’re all thinking, so it feels apt.

“You can’t – they can’t think you’re lying. Even if we’re right and Batista’s not there much longer, they’re still – you can’t get caught.” Dean flexes his hand, into a fist and out again. “High stakes.”

“I know what I need to do.” Seth’s voice is soft, and he nudges a foot across the space between their chairs to toe at Dean’s leg. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.” He swallows loud enough that Dean can hear it. “’Sides, how long’s it been since I got to hit you with a chair?” he jokes feebly. Dean doesn’t laugh.

“Should be done by Summerslam, right?” Seth asks. He sounds pleading, like he knows already there’s no way to tell how long this’ll take, how long until Evolution crumbles from within.

“Yeah, should be,” Dean says anyway. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. He came off easy from this match. Roman’s gonna be hurting for a while, and Seth… well, Seth has more than physical injuries on his mind.

Seth takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay. I should probably… I should go.”

“Nah,” Dean says. He shakes his head. “You stay here. Get some sleep, I’ll be up for a while.”

It speaks to Seth’s mindset that he doesn’t even argue, just nods and shoves his hair back out of his face, standing with a groan and toddling off into the bathroom to change.

There’s silence between Dean and Roman, and then Roman says, almost silently, “You think we can do this?”

Now, Dean does laugh, tipping his chair back on two legs and looking at the ceiling. “Got to,” he says, simply. “If anyone can, it’s our boy.”

He remembers that, the next night. He remembers that he said that when he has to squint at the entranceway as Randy and Hunter come down it, and Hunter’s got a sledgehammer. He remembers that Seth’s still _his_ and not _theirs_ as he feels him slide out of the ring to grab the chairs he knows he’ll be feeling later against his back and his arms and his head. He remembers that Seth is _his and Roman’s and nobody else’s and he can’t be bought and he can’t be stolen_ when Roman drops to the mat with a grunt, when Dean has to look shocked, when Dean has to look Seth in the eye and summon up those old feelings of betrayal from March.

_Take out Roman first, get him out of the way early so he doesn’t get his back fucked up any more than it is._

Seth hits him over and over and over again, _just like they agreed_ and even if Dean knows that they’re not sincere, they still hurt like watching Seth jump down off the apron in high fucking definition.

_Hit me with the chair. Hit me so hard my fuckin’ head rattles. Hit me so hard the chair breaks. Make it look real. Hit me like you hate me because for the next few months, you do._

Once they’ve left, Orton and Hunter and Seth along with them (and Dean wants to be able to hiss at him that he needs to _smile to make it believable_ but he can’t do that), he painstakingly crawls his way over to Roman, curls fingers in his belt and tugs.

“Y’okay?” he asks in a mumble, pushing his forehead against Roman’s side. The welts from last night are red and inflamed and worse, now, and Seth would worry his stupid ass off if he saw.

Roman laughs a little, hair in his face to cover it up. “Ow,” he says, one hand moving to shove his hair out of his eyes, the other gripping Dean’s shirt, tightly, like he’s afraid he’s going to disappear. They know they need to make this look good, and honestly, it’s not a problem. Knowing and feeling are different things and it’s not hard for Dean to summon an expression like he’s lost everything important.

He and Roman struggle on their way to the back. Seth’s stuff’s already gone from their locker room, and they’re supposed to meet up with him later, to make sure everything’s okay, but they weren’t expecting Orton to go fucking ham with the chair shots on Roman’s back. They should have, maybe, should’ve expected that they wouldn’t leave it at whatever Seth did.

“I’ll go alone,” Dean says once they’re locked into their locker room. “I’m gonna call you a cab, big guy. You get back to the hotel and lie down for a while. I’ll be back soon with ice.”

“Ice,” Roman moans like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard. He half-heartedly argues that he should be there, too, to make sure Seth knows he doesn’t blame him – but he’s hurt, and they both know that he won’t be bouncing right back from this. Last night was bad enough, now he can barely stand up straight.

Dean goes alone to the planned meeting spot, in his rental car, parked in the far corner of the lot, under the shade of a tree. It’s about as out of the way as he could get, and once he gets there, he waits. And waits. Until the parking lot’s almost empty, and he’s been listening to the same goddamn radio station for about half an hour, and the pain from all those chair shots is setting in.

The passenger door opens, and Seth’s familiar form slides into the seat, his hood pulled up over his face but Dean would recognize those stupid jeans anywhere.

“Sorry,” Seth pants, “fucking Hunter likes to hear himself talk, I had to—“ He cuts himself off, frowning, and the only sound in the car is the song playing — _ame on me no-ow, flew me to places I’ve never be_ — “Are you listening to Taylor Swift?” Seth asks, squinting at him.

“No,” Dean grumbles, slapping at the radio until the song stops playing. The silence is too much, sort of, and he wonders if the song wasn’t better than this numb buzzing noise.

“You know I didn’t really break up with you, right?” Seth asks, and Dean grunts, swats a hand at him and hisses when his shoulder twinges. There’s that silence again. Dean hates when there’s silence between them. “Is Roman okay?” Seth asks, his voice quiet, tentative, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to ask anymore.

Well, fuck that. Triple fucking H is not going to break them up this way, either. Dean won’t let him.

“He’ll be alright,” Dean says. “Wasn’t you. Orton got his shots in, too.”

“Yeah.” Seth’s fingers twist in his lap. “Are you – I tried to pull ‘em, a little, but you said not to, and I didn’t want, I mean. Did I hurt you?”

Isn’t that a fucking loaded question? How does Dean say yes and no and of course and not at all and that he’s still smarting from back in March?

“No,” he answers finally, letting all the air in his lungs out. Honestly, he’s wishing he had ice and a goddamn Vicodin but what he’s got is Seth, and Seth needs him to say he’s not hurt. Because Seth’s the one making the sacrifice here, and even if he’s the only person who could’ve done it – nobody would’ve believed Roman would turn on them, and they’d believe it all too much of Dean, never would’ve trusted him – the guy is doing his best. He’s in the thick of it, for all intents and purposes _alone_.

Dean can pretend his shoulder’s not killing him for Seth. He would take a goddamn bullet for Seth. And that’s what Triple H doesn’t get, he doesn’t get that some things just aren’t worth any amount of money. He doesn’t get that he can’t use daddy-in-law’s money to buy off anybody he wants.

“How long have you got?” Dean asks, checking the time on the dash. It’s late, and Roman’ll be tucked up nice in bed by now, hopefully. Seth has the connecting room. They’d planned that but they also _planned_ it.

“Five, maybe ten.” Seth sighs, and it shakes, his hands fisting on his thighs before he lets out a breath. “I’m gonna miss you,” he says. Stated plainly, it hurts, reverberates in Dean’s chest.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dean bites out. “This isn’t, it’s just until we get ‘em.”

“I know,” says Seth. “But I’m still gonna miss, fuck, you know? We’ve been attached at the damn hip for a year and a half, Dean. I’m gonna _miss_ you.”

Dean’s hand moves without his permission, scrabbles over the gear shift to grasp at Seth’s. Seth grips back just as hard, and they’re fully aware that they’re clinging to each other like they’re about to fall off a cliff, because they are.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Me too.”

And then they’re kissing, Dean’s elbow shrieking at him, jammed against the back of his seat, and Seth’s hand is holding so tightly to his that it hurts, but it’s nothing, and Seth’s teeth catch on Dean’s lip and he’s probably bleeding but it’s fine. Everything’s fine as there’s still this and there’s still them. Seth could whip out another chair and hit him a million more times but as long as he kissed him after, Dean’d probably forgive him.

Seth doesn’t pull away when the kiss ends, keeping his mouth at the corner of Dean’s, breathing heavy, his eyes closed. His forehead is pressed against Dean’s, and Dean can feel that he’s shaking a little.

“Tell me we can do this,” Seth whispers. “Fuck, I’d believe I could do anything if you were the one who told me it was possible.”

Dean laughs, tucks his thumb against Seth’s jaw, and says, “Course we can do this. It’s you. And it’s me.”

“God, I love you.” Seth kisses him again, fits their mouths together while Dean’s stomach is still fluttering because when it comes to Seth he’s forever an eleven year old with a crush.

Dean clears his throat, gently puts his hand on Seth’s chest to push him away. “Feeling’s mutual,” he mutters. Even looking away, he can feel that Seth’s smiling at him. “You should go,” he points out. “You’ll be missed.”

That’s enough to make Seth’s face fall back into a grimace, and he rolls his shoulders. “Yeah,” he admits. “Probably. I just wanted to make sure we’re still… you know. We’re still good.”

“What’s a couple of chair shots between friends, right?” Dean asks. Seth’s still holding his hand. He squeezes it. “Yeah, we’re good. Like I said, it’s you and me.”

“Tell Roman…” Seth trails off, and sighs. “Tell Roman I’m sorry. And I hope he’s not in too much pain ‘cause of me.”

“It’d be because of them,” Dean grumbles, but he nods anyway. “I’ll let him know. Same time next week?”

“I’ll text you,” Seth offers, pushing open the car door. Even as he’s getting out, he still has a hold on Dean’s hand. “I’ll see you around.”

Dean watches him walk away and sighs, rolling his shoulders. They can do this. They have to do this.

That’s the thing about shields. They protect. And with the right defense, they’re fucking impenetrable.

 


End file.
